


Fight, Flight, Freeze - Or Trust

by smilodonna



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Drunk Hannibal, Fishing, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Tension, Someone gets tied up, Wounds and Blood, but not so far from what you think, not like you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-11-21 13:34:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11358549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilodonna/pseuds/smilodonna
Summary: All this killing and eating people - that's what cannibals do, after all. But what got me really mad at Hannibal was how he manipulated Will in such an evil way - and still thought they could be friends like that. So I planted just a little doubt in his mind at the end of "Fromage", and now the story takes quite a different turn...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal refers to sexuality as "human needs" here. I just want to point out that I don't think that every human has or should have this need.

"You talked about trust as the precondition for friendship in our last session" Hannibal Lecter said. "You said it was hard for me to trust anyone. I must admit that I still do not trust Will Graham as much as I think a person should be trusted to go by the term "friend"."

Bedelia Du Maurier did not bother to speak about the difference between "ideal" and "real", nor did she point out how her colleague had once more fled into passive voice and speaking about how things should be in general instead of going into detail about his feelings - she was used to that. Anyway, she had no illusions about her chances of reaching Hannibal and really working therapeutically with him. He enjoyed talking to an intelligent person - and he liked mind games. That was why he still kept up their appointments.

However, he offered much more insight than usual this time, which roused her curiosity. She smiled: "That man really seems to affect you."

"As I said before, I find him interesting" Hannibal answered calmly, and nobody who did not know him as well as Bedelia did would have noticed the annoyed undertone. And nobody else would have had a chance to survive annoying Hannibal like this. Although Bedelia did not know how radically her colleague usually prevented being annoyed a second time, she felt that it was certainly better to refrain from further comments on the subject. At least for now. So she just leant back, still smiling, and gave him her usual "go on, I'm listening"-look.

Hannibal fell silent for a moment, then he continued: "I just cannot predict him. He keeps surprising me - which, of course, is part of what makes him so interesting. But it also keeps me from opening up to him."

"That looks like you are considering to tell him something about yourself that you do not tell me" Bedelia thought - but what she uttered was simply: "Does _he_ trust _you_?"

"Oh, he is not the quickest to trust anyone either" Hannibal replied, "but yes, I think I actually am the person he is putting the most trust in at the moment."

Again, the emotions showed so subtly in his face that Bedelia nearly failed to notice them. Astonishment was among them. Hannibal was astonished about his own words, as if he hadn't been aware of his thoughts before he expressed them. And then there was something else which was much harder to read. If he had been anyone else, Bedelia would have guessed for guilt. But that could not be possible. He was Hannibal Lecter, he did not feel guilty, much less show it.

 

Hannibal felt relieved when their session was over at that point. He decided to walk all the way home. That had always been something he liked: long walks, pondering over philosophical questions. Only this time the thoughts occupying him were not philosophical or universal, but painfully personal. He kept a steady pace, his back straight as always, giving the image of a purposeful, unflinching man. Not even the most attentive observer would have caught so much as a hint at the turmoil within him.

Well, there was one person who might have. And that very person was the center of the spiraling thoughts and conflicting emotions that were tormenting Hannibal Lecter in a way he had never deemed possible. He wanted to show himself to Will Graham, wanted Will to see him. And he wanted Will to like what he saw. And for that purpose, he had planned to manipulate Will, thus wake and feed the predatory parts of his character, until the young man would have been ready to embrace the predator that was Hannibal Lecter.

He had already begun to put this plan into practice - but now he had doubts about it. He, who had not been bothered by doubts for decades. Not since he had overcome his doubts to consume his beloved sister before avenging her death. He, who had been alone ever since and had been content with that - a single wolf hidden among sheep. And now, he had smelled the odor of another wolf. And there was the longing for friendship, and there were the doubts. How could friendship grow on a ground that had been poisoned with lies and betrayal from the very beginning? How could they be friends, when they were not equals, when one had broken and formed the other to his liking? Not that Will did not already bear within himself the seeds to become this fellow predator Hannibal so much longed for. But still... Will did trust him to a rather astonishing degree. And that was a mistake.

At that thought, Hannibal decided to make a detour and visit a shop nearby. It specialized on whiskey. Hannibal had an exquisite collection of liquors from which he poured a glass or two every now and then, but he mostly kept to whine. Tonight, he would deviate radically from his habits, and therefore he needed additional equipment.

He entered the shop and took his time to find a truly exquisite bottle of whiskey. Or two, better, just in case. He payed and exchanged a few words with the shop assistant, smiling, his person suit perfectly in place.

At home, Hannibal placed the whiskey on the table in the living room and lit a fire in the fireplace. Before he settled down in the armchair, he picked up the phone and cancelled all appointments for the next day. Then he selected a glass he deemed appropriate. He refrained from putting on a record, because he did not want to taint the music for the future with associations to this evening. He loosened his tie and after a moment of hesitation even took of his shoes and lined them up neatly at the side of the armchair, then he systematically started to get drunk for the second time in his life. (The first time had been at the age of nine, when he had been forced to drink vodka by a bunch of older children in the orphanage. It had also been the last time anybody had been able to force him to do anything.)

To think something through, his brain working as fast and efficient as his muscles did when needed, to come to a conclusion and act upon it, and to always, always stay in perfect control - this was what Hannibal Lecter was used to and what he took delight in. But now, he just wanted to deaden all the tormenting thoughts that kept coming back even when he already had come to a conclusion: Will Graham was just too dangerous for him. He had to get him out of his mind, out of his life. Tomorrow, he would call the man and tell him that their conversations had to stop. It should sound rather convincing if he said that Tobias Budge attacking him had shocked him more than he had noticed at first, and to cope he had to stay away from the people involved in that case to avoid triggers. He felt that the terrible hangover he would most likely have the next day could only help to get this painful but necessary conversation done quickly.

For now, he would yield control to alcohol. Perhaps he could think of it as an experiment, to make a new experience and expand his horizon in a safe environment... But however far he would leave his accustomed ways tonight, he would not start to lie to himself. So no experiment, just drinking himself into oblivion.

First he tried to concentrate on the sensations the whiskey provoked. He savoured every sip, revelling in the nuances he discovered beneath the dominating taste. He enjoyed the slight stinging in his throat when he swallowed the liquor, felt into the warmth spreading in his stomach - only to find his thoughts returning to Will Graham immediately. Again and again and again. Hannibal knew that Will liked whiskey, although he would surely drink a far cheaper brand. As he wore much cheaper clothes in a sometimes rather strange combination. Hannibal shuddered as he thought of the broad striped tie he had seen on him combined with that greenish plaid shirt. It was as if Will had been shouting: "You want me to look formal? Look here, I do, I'm even wearing a tie, so be content or fuck off." What would he look like in more elegant clothes?

And at that thought, Hannibal looked at the image his mind presented to him in disbelief: His own hands, twining a crimson tie around Will's neck, then moving up a little, caressing the soft skin just beneath the hairline.

Suddenly, he felt his face burn and his heart race. He had not known. All this time his thoughts had been circling around Will Graham, he had not been aware of his own desire. He had wanted Will as a friend, as a hunting companion, as a kindred spirit... But like this? How could something so huge have hidden just below the surface of his consciousness? And now emerged, woken by just a little alcohol? He was not even drunk yet, just a bit tipsy.

Hannibal was shattered. His self-perception was heavily damaged. Not by the fact that he desired Will the way he did. The feeling was not alien to him although it had not come over him on more than a few occasions throughout his whole life - regardless of the gender of the person that had provoked it. But he had thought he knew himself thoroughly, no suppressed thoughts or feelings, "problem free" as he had stated towards Will.

Will. Hannibal took a large gulp of whiskey as the images in his mind grew more and more vivid. And explicit.

He felt his face blush even deeper, and suddenly, he started to chuckle. "Ashamed, are we, Dr Lecter? No need for that, it is just human emotions, human needs. Looks like you're human after all..." he told himself. "So, what's to be done about that?"

Two more gulps, and the glass was empty. Then, Hannibal swiftly opened his belt, then his fly, and reached inside his trousers. His half hard cock grew to full hardness within just a few strokes. Hannibal paused once more, to get rid of his trousers and pants entirely, then he yielded to the overwhelming desire inside him.

He was not tender towards himself. Gripping his cock tightly, he started to rub fast and vigorously. His breathing became quicker and louder soon, he started to moan and then to whimper hoarsely, when the images in his head surprised him once again.

He was not imagining fucking Will Graham, he was imagining being fucked by him. And it felt so right. So incredibly right.

Hannibal leaned back further in his armchair, put his free hand behind his head and started to pull his own hair abrasively. He let out cries of lust to the vision of Will pinning him down in the chair and thrusting into him brutally. He sped up the rubbing even more, and soon he came with a loud cry. As the waves rippling through his body ebbed away slowly, he repeated Will's name over and over. Moaning first, then whispering, then whimpering. He curled up in the armchair, hugging himself and crying. He missed Will so much, so much...

 

At four a.m., Hannibal woke up and felt bad. His bare legs were cold, he had pins and needles in his left thigh, his back was hurting even worse than his head, his shirt was crumbled and sticky with sweat and semen - and he was still pining for Will to a degree he had never thought himself capable of.

He got up and took a shower, put on pyjamas and a dressing gown, and then he got back to the living room. Falling asleep had interrupted him realising his plan, and Hannibal Lecter was not one to give up a decision once made if it was not inevitable. And he would not accept any reason for not getting sincerely drunk right now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is thinking about Hannibal. And that is pretty much everything that happens in this chapter. (More action next time, I promise...)

When Will woke up, it took him a moment to realise he was in his home, safe, not fighting for his life against Tobias Budge like he had been in his dreams. Again. He rubbed his face and looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand. Six a.m. Too early to wake up on his day off, but there was no chance he would find back to sleep now. Not that the thought was particularly tempting, anyway - to return to his dreams full of blood and fear... He groaned and sat up on the edge of the bed. He might as well get up, go fishing. Maybe that could free his head for a while from all the ugly images that kept badgering him.

Two hours later he was standing in the river, letting the strong current tug at his fishing trousers and focussing on the float. Or rather, trying to focus. For while the images of crimescenes were actually leaving his head, new images appeared and confused him.

One image, to be precise. The image of Hannibal Lecter's face when Will had entered the room after the fight with Tobias Budge. Again and again, Will tried to interpret what he had seen - and failed. Normally, he had to actively shut out other people's feelings or he would feel them like his own. But he was not able to read his psychiatrist's feelings at all. He had not been - not until this particular moment, when the mask that Hannibal Lecter seemed to be wearing permanently had slipped out of place just for the blink of an eye.

But what was it that had shown from underneath the mask? Relief? Yes, rather obviously. But then, the exhaustion and shock that had been to be seen on Hannibal's face had not reached deep. Instead, there had been something like... curiosity. Was he that hard-boiled? What was for sure was that he had been glad to see Will. But exactly how glad?

This was where wishful thinking kicked in, no matter how much Will tried to fight it. He recalled several occasions Dr Lecter had shown some kind of affection towards him - or at least Will could read it into his behaviour... Had it just been politeness when the doctor had objected to Will's statement that he wouldn't be good company? Or had he really been telling Will that he liked him?

Will sighed. He was so bad at this. He was used to being able to read people's emotions directly (which did not necessarily mean he could react properly, but that was another story). But as he could not see behind Hannibal Lecter's veil, he had to interpret his words like everybody else would have to. And he was not fucking schooled in this etiquette the doctor held so high. It was like they were speaking different languages. And there was no translator available.

Then, that time Will had fallen asleep with open eyes and missed an appointment with his psychiatrist (or whatever he was - damn, he had even asked Will exactly this, and Will had only given an evasive answer, because he just had no clue where he stood with this man). Why did Hannibal Lecter literally go and look for him then instead of just complaining about his rudeness and the time wasted or asking what had happened later? Will had been so confused when he had woken up to the doctor standing there in front of him. Who had almost immediately directed the conversation to the case Will was working on. Perhaps to Will's benefit, because he was not sure at all if he had managed a conversation about anything personal at that point in time without making a complete fool of himself.

Will snorted. "Therapy doesn't work on me" he had said to Jack. Well, sure it couldn't work if he had a fucking crush on his psychiatrist and was afraid of showing him the wrong parts of his psyche... Although he still showed him much more than he had deemed possible when they first met. He was torn between the wish to open up completely to Hannibal Lecter, to be seen as who he truly was - and the wish to hide anything away from him that could cause a rejection, which he considered the overwhelming majority of his personality. 

He had to change this situation. Obviously, he wasn't able to see Hannibal Lecter as his psychiatrist and nothing else, so he had to end his "therapy". He did not want to open up to Hannibal anymore if the latter did not open up to him in return. What he wanted was mutual honesty and an equal footing. Or nothing at all. Damn, "nothing at all" would be hard to bear. And he bet this was precisely what he was going to get...

He swallowed hard and was glad that in this exact moment the float was tugged under water. Finally, a fish had bitten, and he had something to focus on and could forget everything else for a short while.

Still, only half an hour later, Will found himself driving towards Baltimore, a freshly caught and gutted big trout in a cooler on the passenger seat, and cursing himself all the way. This was such a bad idea, he kept telling himself, but he kept driving.

A recent drive down the very same road came to his mind. That ride had most probably also been a bad idea, as he realised now. After kissing Alana, he had been so confused and agitated that he had needed someone to talk to. And of course, this someone had been Dr Lecter. Hannibal. Not because he was Will's psychiatrist, but because Will wanted him to know him, wanted to share with him what was inside of him.

For once, his wish for connection had been so strong that he hadn't thought about what the other might think about his actions. And Dr Lecter had acted all psychiatrist, again, and had interpreted Will's behaviour as if their relationship was not personal at all. But, wait - he had asked Will why he had driven an hour through the snow to tell him about it. And Will hadn't answered. Fuck. Perhaps Hannibal thought that Will wanted to make him jealous? Or that he wanted to tell him he was not interested in him by telling him he was interested in Alana? Sometimes, Will forgot that it was unthinkable for most people to be attracted to more than one person at once. And that people like him, who had room in their hearts for different people, were just seen as haphazardly jumping from bed to bed. He snorted. Not that he had been near anyone's bed during a damn long time - if it hadn't been a crime scene.

Before he had met Dr Lecter, he had not even been interested in anyone but Alana recently - and that had also been just a lingering crush and he had never hoped to find his feelings requited.

So he had messed everything up with Alana and could not hope for anything that resembled a relaxed contact to her anymore, let alone a friendship or even more. And now he was going to get things straight with Hannibal, and the odds were that the outcome would be quite the same...

"So, straight ahead to 'nothing at all'", he said aloud with a cynical grin, revelling in the bitterness of his own voice.

Somewhere along the road he realised that Hannibal would probably be working anyway and have no time for him - the day had felt like weekend to Will because he had a day off, but in fact it was wednesday. The part of himself that had taken the steering wheel just brushed away petty objections like this and kept on driving determinedly, while another part sat in the backseat of his mind, arms folded and shaking their head, constantly mumbling "bad idea, bad idea".


	3. Chapter 3

When Will arrived at Dr Lecter's house, he went straight out of the car and to the door where he rang the door bell immediately, knowing that the "bad idea"-voice would still have stopped him if he had hesitated now. Then, while he waited, all his doubts jumped on him with force, nearly succeeding in pushing him back to the car. But he stayed. Just a moment longer, perhaps Hannibal would come to answer the door soon, he had not expected a visitor, he could not be rushing to the door immediately...

At last, Will heard a sound, perhaps a door being shut somewhere in the house, and then a loud thud. The next thing was unmistakably Hannibal's voice, but in a way he had never heard it before. Was Dr Lecter swearing? There were more quite undistinct sounds, now approaching the door. It was opened just a crack and the owner of the house peeked through before he opened it wide with an equally wide smile. "Will!" he beamed.

Will stared at him. His first thought was that Hannibal had been attacked again, with all the blood running down the right side of his face. But in the next split of a second he noticed the smell, the assuring grip on the door case, the dressing gown showing the pyjamas underneath ... and the complete missing of The Mask. Shit.

Hannibal's face changed, he looked terribly embarrassed now, mumbled something Will could not understand and made attempts to close the door again.

"No, please!" Will cried out, then continued in a calmer voice, "Please, let me come in and tend your wound, I'll just fetch the first-aid kit from the car, ok?" "Wound?" Hannibal looked confused. Then he lifted a hand to his forehead, grimaced and looked at his now bloodstained hand. "Oh. Yeah, I sssumbled..." His voice trailed off. He leant heavily against the door case. "Ssure. I'll wait. No. I got mehical ssuff inne bass, wiss annisseppic... an-ti-sss... You know. Upssairs, behin'e berroom." 

Will gave him a concerned glance and hurried past him into the house. It took him a moment to find the "medical stuff". (Oh, the always eloquent Dr Lecter. It would have been funny had Will not been so worried.) He had to actually go through the bedroom to reach the bath. Some part of him was glad that he had no time to pay attention to that now.

When he came back to Hannibal, the latter was sitting on the threshold, still leaning against the door case, as if he had just slipped down and stayed where he landed. His eyes were closed, but he opened them when he heard Will approaching. Will hastily produced a gauze pad and placed it in Hannibal's hand. "Press this to the wound." he said firmly, while he knelt down and started to search through the kit for the things he needed. Hannibal obeyed, then muttered something incomprehensible.

Will brought his ear close to Hannibal's mouth and listened intently until it dawned on him. Hannibal was afraid the neighbours could see them and wanted to go inside. "Sure. Didn't think of that, sorry. Looks like I'm so used to my eremite life... Let me just have a closer look at the wound to see if you need a doctor, and then we go to the living room, ok? The light in the hall won't be sufficient."

Hannibal nodded and let Will examine the wound. As he had hoped, it was just superficial, and as far as he could see would do without stitches. If they could still the bleeding soon enough, that was. As it was a head wound, it was bleeding heavier than let's say a leg wound would have. And all the alcohol in the blood did not help either, Will guessed. But as the bleeding seemed to have already lessened he thought it would be ok.

"I'm no expert on this, but I think this wound doesn't need stitches." he told Hannibal. "Do you want a doctor to have a look however or are you fine with me taking care of it the best I can?"

"I truss you take care o' me, Will." the addressed answered with an ingenuous look. Will frowned a little, but helped him get to his feet. When Hannibal finally stood, he was swaying badly, and Will rushed to support him. After a moment the drunk seemed stabilised enough, so they started walking slowly, Will's arm firm around Hannibal's waist and Hannibal's hand holding tight to Will's shoulder.

It was not long until Will realised that it was quite a tough job to get the heavy man to the living room. But the hall was really too dimly lit for taking care of the wound, and so he kept to his task. A glance sideways now and then showed him that Hannibal was still pressing the pad to his face. Will tried to concentrate on walking, on not toppling over together with the drunk man, on breathing, on anything but the warmth of Hannibal's body so close to his own, the almost painful grip of Hannibal's hand on his shoulder...

He nearly succeeded. Until a sudden change in the other man's movements and merely the ghost of a noise made him spin around on the spot and hug Hannibal tight. Hannibal was crying. He clutched to Will like a drowning man, stammering incongruently between sobs. Will didn't understand a word, but he felt the other man's embarrassment and shame.

"Shh, it's ok." he mumbled, stroking Hannibal's back with one hand while still supporting him with the other. "I won't think any less of you just because I've seen you drunk. I promise. How do you think I'm like when I'm drunk, huh? Hey, please stop crying, will you? Damn, I'm shitty at comforting people, I guess, but I'm still glad you let me in because we really need to take care of that wound, ok? Let's go, Hannibal, huh?"

He pulled back a little so he could look into the other's face. It was all wet with blood and tears, swollen with crying and drunkenness, but the fond smile Hannibal now produced resonated in Will's whole body. He fought the urge to kiss Hannibal although he had the impression the latter would be quite ok with that. But he didn't want to do anything Hannibal might regret when he got sober again. For his own sake just as much as for the other's.

Somehow they mastered the last steps to the living room where Will carefully placed Hannibal in an armchair. Then he immediately went to get the dressing material he had left at the door and then knelt before Hannibal and set about tending the wound at last, trying to push away his own feelings again and shut out whatever the other man might feel. Still, he noticed the hurt look on Hannibal's face when he put on a pair of medical gloves. He looked Hannibal straight into the face. "You gotta be kidding me, _doctor_. There's a lot of blood here, of course I'm gonna wear gloves, what do you think? It's nothing personal. Do you also pout like this when your partner wants to use a condom, or what?" Oh, shit. Wrong turn, Will Graham. Fuck.

Hannibal smirked. "No, I promiss I won'. Do you habn to have one in your poggid, Will?"

Will closed his eyes and let out a sharp breath. This felt ridiculously surreal. "Let's. Get. That. Wound. Tended. Now." he hissed between clenched teeth, feeling his face burning. He opened his eyes again to see Hannibal fake an innocent expression only to grab for Will's arms the moment he got closer to clean the wound. Grudgingly, Will slapped his hands away. "Isn't your wound hurting? Why do keep me from caring for that?" he asked, irritated.

"Dere's somessin else hurtn mush more, Will." Hannibal slurred softly and reached for him again. "Damn, Hannibal, keep your hands from me while I tend that fucking wound or I'll tie you up, I swear!" Will exclaimed.

Wrong turn again.

Hannibal's right hand gripped his arm so tight it took him a moment to free himself again. "You swore." that bugger said then, actually fluttering his eyelashes and stretching out his arms in front of him, the wrists close together.

Dammit. Perhaps this was actually the easiest way to get this annoying drunkard under control.

"Ok. Give me the belt of your dressing gown, then." Will demanded with his face blank. Hannibal obeyed immediately and he willingly let Will place him a little askew in the chair to constrain his wrists behind his back. Will fought back the strangely arousing feeling of power he suddenly had and concentrated on the wound.

The bleeding had stopped by now but started again slightly when he cleaned the wound. It really didn't look half as bad as it had at first sight, Will noted with relief. Hannibal kept still now although Will could tell from his face that the antiseptic was stinging. However, when the wound was cleaned and Will was about to dress it, Hannibal started shaking his head. "What's up?" Will asked, puzzled. Then he saw the smirk. He felt something snap inside his mind. Before he realised what he was doing, he had grasped at Hannibal's hair and pulled hard. "Hold still!" he growled.

The answer was a deep moan that made Will freeze on the spot. For what seemed like hours - or perhaps the tiniest split of a second, he could not tell. Then he slowly opened his hand and ran it through Hannibal's hair, let it rest gently at the back of his head, and leant towards him. Hannibal met him halfway. Their lips touched clumsily at first which made the drunk psychiatrist giggle. Soon, he stopped that, when Will grabbed his nape firmly and kissed him fervidly. 

Will felt his heart jump when Hannibal responded the kiss equally passionately. He didn't mind the strong taste of whiskey on Hannibal's mouth nor the unfamiliar awkwardness that the alcohol had induced in the doctor. To Will, the kiss was beyond everything he could have imagined in all those lonely moments when he had thought that an occasional hand on his shoulder was all he could hope for in reality.

Still, he brought himself to pull back after a short while. He reached for the medical kit again and finally dressed the wound, this time undisturbed by Hannibal, who just sat there making sheep's eyes at him. Will then freed him from the belt that had still been tied around his wrists.

"Ssure this was a good idea?" Hannibal teased, and grabbed for Will's back to pull him closer.

Instead of an answer, Will kissed him again. No, he was not sure at all, as Hannibal not only kissed him back enthusiastically but also tried to pull him between his widely spread legs and to rid him of his shirt at the same time. In all his drunken clumsiness Hannibal was still so alluring, and Will would not have complained about him being fast and shameless - if not, if not...

He broke the kiss and squirmed free of Hannibal's grip. Kneeling on the floor and keeping his eyes closed, he caught a deep breath and tried to collect his thoughts.

"I'm sorry" he said, looking up eventually. Into wet eyes. Damn. "Please, Hannibal... I... I want this, really, but just... not like this, you know? I don't want you to wake up tomorrow and regret. Let us meet again when you are sober, ok? I'm gonna leave now, and call you tomorrow, ok?"

"Why do you hae to be sso damn ssensible?" Hannibal complained.

Will gave him a half grin. "Honestly, I don't know, Hannibal. I'll call you. Bye."

And with this, he pecked him on the head and forced himself to turn away hastily so that Hannibal couldn't get hold of him again.

He was already at the door to the hall, when Hannibal called his name, softly and with an audible lump in his throat. Will turned to face him again. Hannibal's facial expression was somewhere between sheepish and anxious. And so much more endearing than it should have been. "You gonna call?"

Will smiled. "I promise. Work starts at half past eight, I could give you a short call just before, and we can talk with more time in the evening. Are you okay with that?"

"Yes. Well, then - goodbye, Will." He blew him a kiss.

Will waved awkwardly and went out in a nearly convincingly determined pace.


	4. Chapter 4

Getting into his car, Will realised that he had completely forgotten about the fish. But Hannibal would not be ready for solid food anytime soon anyway, so the trout could as well travel back to Wolf Trap and make Will's dinner.

As he drove through Baltimore, he found it very hard to concentrate on the traffic. He constantly swore and nearly ran a red light. After he had his second near accident when just driving out of the city, he decided to pull to the side of the highway as soon as possible. He found a dirt road that he drove down a few metres, then he stopped and turned off the engine.

He leant his head on the steering wheel and let out a loud sigh. He felt the tension in his whole body. This was so confusing. There had been quite a lot of scenarios he had envisioned how his encounter with Dr Lecter could be like - none of them had come anywhere near the absurd scene he had just been part of. And although the alcohol had obviously brought out a certain honesty and openness in the otherwise so secretive psychiatrist - it had also distorted reality not just a little. Will had seen sides of Hannibal he had never seen before, but he had only seen them as they were under the influence of alcohol. He could only hope that a sober Hannibal would still be willing to open up to him, and reveal to him how he really was.

And then, there was something that had only shown vaguely beneath the prominent parts of the man's personality. Something huge, and dark, and with a strong and strange appeal to Will. He could not quite grasp what it was, it only seemed that his crush was really, really kinky. And still hiding parts of his psyche disturbingly well when completely shit-faced.

Will wanted to see it all. He sensed that this side of Hannibal was equally dangerous and awesome in the truest sense of the word. And so damn arousing.

With a sigh, he reached for his belt. It felt quite pathetic to jerk off here at the side of the road, but he was afraid there would be no way he could return to his home in one piece if he kept on driving in his current state of mind.

He still had difficulty in concentrating on the traffic afterwards, but somehow he reached Wolf Trap without an accident. There, it took him a long walk with his dogs to get his mind on something other than Hannibal for at least a minute from time to time. Well, half a minute. Perhaps.

Will only returned to his home when he was so tired he nearly fell over his own feet. Without bothering to take his clothes off or brush his teeth, he dropped onto the bed, kicked his shoes off and crawled under the covers. His plan worked: Exhaustion helped to still his mind, finally, and he fell asleep right away. Unsurprisingly, Hannibal played the main role in all his dreams. Which did not mean he slept well. But at least the horror had an erotic component this night, he thought wryly as he wrapped himself into towels and tried to get back to sleep again at about four a.m., leaving his soaked clothes in a heap on the floor.  
  


The next morning, it took Will five or six attempts to finally find the courage to make the phone call he had anticipated since he had left Hannibal's house the other day. Hannibal answered almost immediately.

"Hello, Will." His voice sounded hoarse and somewhat tense. Will swallowed. "Hello, Hannibal."

"I have to apologize for my behaviour yesterday." Oh, please, don't say it was only the alcohol, don't... "I forgot all about good manners and showed you my desire in a horribly shameless way. All the more ashamed I am now."

So it had not only been the alcohol. "Don't. Don't be ashamed. Please." Will was sure that Hannibal could hear his smile through the telephone. Hell, he must be able to _see_ it from over there... "I am glad you showed me. I don't know if I would have found the courage... Hannibal. I just want to meet you again as soon as possible." Was that too blunt? Too hurried? Damn, he didn't want to talk on the telephone, he wanted to see Hannibal's face, touch him...

"I do wish for that, too, Will." Hannibal replied, his voice even deeper and more sonorous than usually. "When do you finish work today?"

"I'll pack up at four." To hell with the doubts, Hannibal was just as eager to see him. "Can I come over to your place, then? No, you sure have appointments in the afternoon, don't you?"

"Nothing that can't be postponed. Please tell me that I may look forward to your visit this afternoon."

Will smiled warmly. The words would have sounded rather stiff from every other person's mouth, but he could still hear yesterday's drunk Hannibal through it, pleading "You gonna call?" And he felt Hannibal's desire through the distance, matching his own.

"I'll be there. Can't wait..."  
  


On this day, Will surely consolidated his reputation of being the youngest absent-minded professor in Quantico's history. The hours crawled by painfully slowly, until he could finally rush off towards Baltimore.

Getting out of the car, he felt his heart race and his stomach clench. Damn, was he nervous. Will wiped his damp hands on his trousers and cleared his suddenly dry throat before he rang the bell. Hannibal opened after mere seconds and greeted him with a fond smile. No mask today, either.

"Hello, Will." He didn't say that, he fucking purred it, and Will blushed on the spot. "Hannibal" he managed to utter, his voice fairly more than a hoarse whisper, and made a step forward. And Hannibal did not step aside to let him pass, but instead came forward on his part and took Will in his arms. Will returned the hug, and for a long while, they just stood there, enjoying the sensation of being so close, feeling every little movement the other made, hearing and feeling each other breathe.

Then, Hannibal pulled back just a little, so he could look into Will's face. Will returned the look calmly and seriously. He did not feel like smiling. Their relationship was about to change so radically it made him dizzy. And he felt like he had never wanted anything so much as he wanted to be as close to Hannibal as possible, to know him, to merge with him. His eyes grew darker, and he bit his lower lip when he noticed how heavily he was breathing.

Hannibal smiled and beckoned: "Please, come in." Will had heard him say these words so often, but they had never sounded like this. So dark and promising, so wistful and hungry...  
They did not break the touch as they went into the house. Perhaps it was Hannibal's foot that slammed the door shut, perhaps it was Will's shoulder, it couldn't have mattered less. What did matter now were just the two of them pressed together, hands clinging desperately to backs, stroking softly over cheeks and necks, tugging fervently at strands of hair... and lips and tongues finally meeting again, finally... 

Neither of them felt like they had had the time to make any clear decision, they just seemed to be swept away by a strong tide, both of them giving in equally willingly.  
Will grabbed Hannibal's upper arms firmly and made him walk backwards, slowly, still kissing him passionately. Hannibal held onto Will's hips for support and let himself be guided. He moaned as his back met the wall and Will pressed against him, caught his wrists and pinned them to the wall above his head.

"No offense intended, but you're clearly overdressed, doctor." Will teased. He started to undo Hannibal's tie with one hand while he still held his wrists with the other.

Hannibal sighed, closed his eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of Will's hands on him. He could pretend there was nothing between them but a few clothes that were soon to be gone, too... No. He couldn't.

"Stop." he said softly.

Will let go of him and took a small step backwards. "Too fast?" he asked.

Hannibal reached out and took his hand in his. "No." he said, a little short of breath. "Well, in some way, yes. Believe me, I did like what you just did, what we just did. What we still might do. But I am afraid this time I have to be the sensible one. There are things I have to tell you." 

Will swallowed hard. "What? You got an STI? Or a jealous lover that can show up any second?"

"Neither, nor. Please come over to the living room and sit down with me, it will take some time to explain."

Will went ahead to the living room with his stomach clenching more with every step. Whatever it was that Hannibal wanted to tell him - it would surely balk all his sprouting hopes brutally. Will felt the deep despair radiating off Hannibal, and it nearly took his breath away.

They sat down in two armchairs, facing each other. The setting reminded Will of their therapy sessions, but they were sitting closer now, he could have touched Hannibal's knees if he had just stretched out his hand. But he didn't. Instead, he lent back, fighting the urge to hug himself, and waited for whatever horrible news Hannibal had for him.


	5. Chapter 5

"I have wronged you, and I am deeply sorry for it. You remember the day I smelled you. It was not only because of the after shave - though I am grateful you refrained from using it today - there was something underneath that I could smell. Fever. I know it rings hollow, but I do have an unusual olfactory sense and can smell illness on people. Together with the symptoms you reported on I'm sure you have encephalitis and should see a neurologist as soon as possible. You will need stationary treatment."

Will shook his head, confused. "Are you sure? And why didn't you tell me? I mean, it's been a while, with a lot of fucking bad headaches and scary stuff, and now you're telling me I could have gotten rid of all of that if you had only told me in time? Instead of just saying I was stinking?"

The last words had been yelled at Hannibal's face from a close distance. Now, Will lent back again, arms folded. "Yes, I bet the explanation will need some time." he growled. "If it's not simply that you are a fucking sadist and completely incapable of even a little compassion."

Suddenly, Hannibal found himself not being fond of eye contact. Oh, the irony. Why did he have to tell Will now? They had been about to start the relationship they both longed for, he could have helped Will to evolve... No. This decision was the right one, even if it meant the end of everything he had tried to build up with Will, and with that, perhaps the end of his own existence. The wrong decision had been to try to manipulate Will in the first place. He nearly smiled at the thought of how he could have been so oblivious to the fact that, while he was working on changing Will, Will had changed him just as much. He, Hannibal Lecter, was now overthinking his decisions, had qualms, and was so hopelessly deep in love, that he would risk and most probably lose everything for it. He forced himself to meet Will's angry stare before he continued to speak.

"I saw something in you. A part of yourself you seem to suppress. I wanted you to see the beauty of this suppressed side, to embrace your whole, true self - and therefore I tried to manipulate you. Because I didn't trust you to get there without manipulation. I am so sorry, Will. I wanted to use you losing your grip on reality to bind you closer to me, so that I could show you who you are, who you could be..." His voice trailed off.

"Damn, you are so fucked up, Hannibal Lecter." Will spat. "I don't even want to know what this oh so important side of me is, I guess it is something you just project on me anyway."

Hannibal bit on his tongue. Everything he could possibly say now would only make it worse. He just looked at Will from below a strand of hair he didn't bother to smoothen back again, all his strength and hope having left him like the air escaping a balloon.

Will huffed a laugh, so bitter and hateful it made Hannibal shiver. "Don't you try puppy eyes on me, you know every single one of my dogs does this a thousand times better than you." Will said with ice in his voice, then he stood up abruptly and started to walk around the room agitatedly, trying to sort out the chaos in his mind and his heart.

He felt like hitting Hannibal, like breaking his nose, making him bleed... And still, some part of him wanted to go back to where they had been mere minutes ago. It couldn't be true what Hannibal had just told him. It had to be a bad joke.

Will looked at Hannibal, who was still sitting in his chair, looking up at him. All the affection he had shown towards Will was still to be seen in his eyes - and all the guilt, too.

So, it was no joke. Of course not. Hannibal had feelings for him and had deceived him brutally nevertheless. Will felt Hannibal's wish to turn back time and undo what he had done. He wished it was possible, too. But it wasn't. And he couldn't trust Hannibal anymore, although he felt the other's heartache mirror his own.

And there was something else. Hannibal still hadn't told him everything. Will sensed the determination to get things straight and the fear of his reaction at the same time in Hannibal.

He stopped his pacing. "What else?" he whispered, not sure how he could be able to bear another terrible revelation, but just tired of secrets and lies.

"I'll tell you where to go to find out. But you'll have to restrain me first so you can be sure I won't follow you and you'll have all the time you need."

Will looked at him in disbelief. "Restrain you?"

Hannibal nodded. "You don't trust me anymore, and you are right. Make sure I can't harm you." He stood up and tugged a thin rope from behind a bookshelf.

Will snorted. "Of course you got a rope there. I mean, who hasn't?" He shrugged and took the rope from Hannibal's hands. "Whatever. Sit down on the chair." he commanded, avoiding the other's eyes again.

Hannibal obeyed and Will tied his arms and legs to the chair. He still felt manipulated as he was reminded of the morning before.

"Last time I serve your kinks, doctor." he hissed, standing up and stretching his back. "Now tell me."

When Hannibal answered, there was something in his voice that made Will feel like freezing from the inside. Total subjection. Hannibal laid his life in his hands, and he didn't want it.

Will shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his mind and went in the given direction without granting Hannibal another look. He opened the indicated door a few steps down the corridor with the thought that this seemed to be some weird alternative ending to Bluebeard, and entered.

The room was small, compared to what else he had seen of Hannibal's home so far. It had a large window with a desk in front of it - that was pretty much it. No decoration on the off-white walls. It seemed like Hannibal came here when he needed to be without any distraction.

Will stepped closer to the desk and looked at the two drawings lying there. One showed the Wound Man he knew from the Ripper case - not just a copy of the old drawing, but a stylised new version of it. The other drawing wasn't stylised at all. It was a realistic picture of Jeremy Olmstead, displayed as the Wound Man with all the tools stuck inside him, as he had been found.

The pendulum just appeared unsent-for. Will saw himself kill the man, prepare the body, and then sit down to draw his work meticulously. With a loving eye for the detail, like he was known to.

He returned to the here and now, terrified.

There was no doubt. The man who had helped him catch killers and who had been supposed to help him cope with the horror his work evoked - this very man was a killer himself, a brutal serial killer. And he had led them all down the garden path like a couple of kids. This would take some time to digest. But something else shocked Will even more: His first thought about the drawing of the mutilated and debased corpse had been "It's beautiful." He knew that this was what the killer - Hannibal - intended: to make art of dead people he had seen no grace in while they had been alive. And Will reproduced killers' thoughts in his mind, that was how it worked. But this particular thought had been there before the pendulum appeared. So he had no excuse.

Will swallowed hard. This was the side in him that Hannibal had wanted to feed. But it was only the effect of getting in the killers' mind all the time, and of being manipulated by his psychiatrist. He hadn't been like this before. Hannibal had talked him into this, like he had talked him into feeling good about killing Hobbs. Will felt the anger rise in his stomach in hot bubbles. Hannibal had insisted on delivering himself to Will's mercy. Fine. Only, Will would have no mercy.

He felt for his pocket knife (an ex-lover had once made fun of him for bringing it even if he was setting out for a date, but he just felt naked without it). The familiar feeling of the knife he had used so often was somehow reassuring. This time, he wouldn't use it on fish. A sense of power rose in his chest, mixing with rage and a strange feeling of righteousness that pushed all moral qualms aside. Will felt as if he didn't even need the knife, as if his claws and fangs were sufficient.

He was about to leave the room, when his gaze fell on the desk once more and he noticed that there was a third drawing. He pushed the other two to the side and gasped.

The drawing showed himself. It was nearly as accurate as a photograph, but it couldn't be one. Because he had never looked like this. On the picture, he was getting up from a crouching position, apparently about to jump, his gaze locked firmly on the viewer. His face and clothes were covered in blood, and in his equally blood-stained hand, he held a knife. Although this was obviously Hannibal's fantasy, Will had the impression of looking into a mirror.

He still felt like a puppet on a string. He couldn't tell anymore where his own thoughts and feelings began and where Hannibal's manipulations ended. Perhaps they never ended. He could kill the man (being driven there by Hannibal himself) and still not be free. He could call Jack now to put Hannibal behind bars for the rest of his life or have him executed. Depending on which way Hannibal chose for himself - there was no doubt Dr Lecter could convince the court of either having acted in cold blood and of sound mind and disposing memory or being severely mentally ill just as easily. In his mind, Will would be chained to Hannibal and whatever institution they kept him in - or part of him would die with the killer.

There was no one that understood him like Hannibal did, and never would be. He had been ready to love him for that, and he hated him for it now. Either way, he felt he needed him to understand himself. As much as Will tried to cling to the thought that the violence within himself was only there because of Hannibal, he knew this wasn't true. Hannibal had only fostered what had been there right from the start.

And to find a way to live with this side of his own psyche and tame it, Will had to look at it. The man that was able to help him here had plans that went in the opposite direction: feed the beast and let it rage. And he was the most skillful manipulator Will had ever come across. But now Will had seen behind the magician's tricks and would not be deluded as easily again. And he had one ace in the hole: He was sure that Hannibal's affection for him was genuine, and he was intent on using it for his own purpose: To free himself. No matter what became of Hannibal, no matter even if he would keep on killing. All Will wanted now was to regain control over his own life and then get away from Hannibal and Jack and all the fucking crime scenes forever. He was just so fed up with all of this.

But to be able to finally leave for good, to no longer need Hannibal Lecter, he had to endure his company for some time more. Until he knew everything he needed to know.

It was a dangerous game, he was very clear on that. Hannibal would never let him go voluntarily. And perhaps the most dangerous thing about it were his own feelings for the killer, always threatening to take over and make rational thinking impossible. No matter if what he felt was hate or love, he had to get on top of it. And with a sudden clarity he knew that he could do this.

Will took a deep breath. He would risk his life. Nevertheless, he felt incredibly calm and determined now. His emotions were tucked away somewhere in the far back of his mind.  
He walked over to the living room in a resolute pace, striving to look still furious despite the forced stillness within himself.

When he entered the room, Hannibal looked at him with an obvious effort to stay calm. "What happened to your mask?" Will thought fleetingly, but he walked over to the shackled man, unperturbed. Without a preamble, he pressed his knife against Hannibal's throat.

The psychiatrist flinched only a smidgen, keeping his eyes on his counterpart. Still, Will knew he could feel honoured. Who else would have had the opportunity to see real fear on Hannibal Lecter's face?

He drew the sharp blade almost gently about an inch across the soft skin, slitting it slightly, and eliciting a sharp gasp from Hannibal's mouth.

Then he cut the killer's ties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it. Hope you like it somehow in spite of the abrupt ending...


End file.
